Evan Sarah Epstein

So, it’s been a while since I posted anything. The last couple months have been a total whirlwind and the next few promise to be more of the same. Part of that whirlwind has been my Friday night knitting group (which hasn’t been able to meet in the last month because of our ridiculous schedules). I love Friday night knitting. I get to sit around in sweatpants (this is a strictly enforced dress-code), nibble on homemade goodies, knit, and gossip and catch up with wonderful ladies who constantly inspire me and make me laugh.

When we started this weekly get-together last fall, I was certainly the laggard in the knitting talent department. I started off on a monster of a sweater/ jacket project for myself, while the other ladies were smart and took on shorter, more immediate gratification projects that taught them more of the technical skills that I am only now starting to attempt. Every week, they would be onto new projects, while I dutifully trudged on with the never-ending sweater. Every week I would pull out the panel I was working on and admire all the progress they were making in the intervening days between our meetings.

Then one day it happened – I finally finished. I am fairly certain that in the time it took me to finish this sweater, they produced 22 pairs of socks, two bibs, several baby booties, a poncho, and a couple baby sweaters. But I suppose that’s not the point. The point is that despite the ridiculous amount of time it took me to finish; I do now have a very warm and not entirely hideous sweater that I can proudly say I made myself. Once I finished the sweater, 1) I felt relief, and 2) I wanted to take on shorter projects… which I did!

Since the sweater, I’ve completed a couple baby sweaters for friends and a cowl. All of it at a leisurely pace and with each project, I felt like I was gaining more momentum and certainly making far fewer mistakes. I barely made any with the last piece I finished!

As we head into the summer, I know Friday night knitting will be spotty at best as we all make plans to play outside, but come fall – watch out – I’ll be ready

It’s been a long time since I posted anything bookish, so here goes: a list of some of the more interesting books I’ve read this past year.

The Other Boleyn Girl, by Philippa Gregory

I’d heard this was a lot smuttier than it turned out to be. I was expecting ridiculous camp and drama. But, The Other Boleyn Girl ended up being a lot more of a slow, day-by-day account of what a woman of the court during Henry VIII had to contend with. I really appreciated the level of historical detail and fact that Philippa Gregory put into the novel. As much as I enjoyed reading about the game of social chess the court played, I think what I enjoyed the most were the parts of the book where the heroine leaves court to live as a poor farmer’s wife, learning to make bread and cheese and giving up the niceties of court living. It was so interesting to see these two realities juxtaposed for the main character. In one, a woman’s value laid in her ability to craft hearty ale, in the other; it was her ability to keep all eyes on her, no matter the personal cost.

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Over the course of the past year or so, one of my big goals has been to make more of my own stuff. I was already fairly proficient in the kitchen, but I wanted to add to what I already did. I wanted to take up crafts like knitting and soap making, make more of my foods from scratch, to not only get rid of the fillers and unnecessary ingredients, but to feel a closer connection to my food. I wanted to expand my canning beyond jam and applesauce. I just wanted a greater connection between myself and what I consumed – both food and materials.

What’s really helped along the way has been Sean’s interest in this as well. He loves making things, from beer to book binding, so I never feel like my sometimes, less-than-perfect accomplishments aren’t appreciated. That’s something that certainly goes a long way.
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It’s very easy to become so wrapped up in all that life has to offer that we sometimes forget to stop and take stock of what’s actually going on. About six years ago I was dealing with a hormonal imbalance. I had a wonderful nurse practitioner at the time, who was willing to let me try to address the problem with Chinese medicine and acupuncture. It just felt like a better option – one that would try to get at the root of the problem instead of a Band Aid for the symptoms.

I was put on a very strict diet and herbal formula for four months – and it worked. It worked very well. My nurse practitioner was astonished and excited to tell other patients of my success. Since then, I have occasionally gone back to the diet and herbal formula for a month here and there when I start to feel off.

Lately however, I haven’t necessarily felt off. Actually, I’ve felt great. I feel healthy and energetic – which is why I think I was finally able to pay attention to some of the issues I’ve had for so long that I paid little attention to them. Sean has always called me a delicate flower – not because I’m demure, but because I tend to have a very sensitive digestive tract. I’ve also always had an issue with becoming lightheaded when I stand up.

My dear friend Katie is a Chinese herbalist and acupuncturist – and a damn fine one at that. After listening to my various and seemingly unrelated problems and examining various points on my body, she found the root cause: apparently, I have a very weak spleen. So now, in an attempt to enjoy take- out once more and to stand up without having to take a moment to steady myself, I am starting a new herbal regimen. I am hopeful and really excited. After just one week, I am already starting to notice a difference!

It happens every year.

Beautiful, smart, strong women I know and love start to doubt themselves come January first. They say they’ve put on some weight, their skin looks bad, they haven’t been reading enough, and they aren’t fit enough or beautiful enough. They aren’t “enough.”

I start to hear things like, “I’m not going to eat any carbohydrates,” or “no more bread or dairy or sugar for me – I need to lose this holiday weight.” Of course, the women who are saying these things look great and are generally active and thoughtful about what they put in their pantries. So what is it about this time of year that they should suddenly feel they are not enough? That they should all of a sudden demonize one food group over another, when most of the year, they are so balanced with their diet?

It’s not that I am against the idea of treating your body well – I think it’s great. I do however find the frenzy that erupts on January first as everyone strives for perfection a bit jarring.

Wouldn’t it be nice if instead of perfection, we just aimed for health and happiness? (And I don’t mean health that is a veiled statement for perfection and vanity weight loss).

It’s not as if I am without my own nagging insecurities. And I am working on them.

I suppose what I am saying is that no one is perfect and my New Year’s wish is for people – lovely, smart, beautiful people – to make it a point to be kind to themselves and allow some human faults to sneak in – without guilt.

A couple months ago a girlfriend and I visited my mother-in-law, Mary, to learn how to make soap. Mary is a total renaissance woman. She makes soap, weaves baskets, spins her own yarns to use in her beautiful knitted creations. And she’s funny and smart. Really, I don’t know how much more I could ask for a mother-in-law.

When I first met Sean, one of the things that really stuck out in my mind was how he always had this natural clean smell. Not a hippie-dippy patchouli smell, but kind of earthy nonetheless. I soon found out that he used soap his mother made and upon smelling said soap, it all made sense. Shortly thereafter Mary gave me a bar of my own – it was grapefruit scented. It lathered beautifully, smelled nice and clean, lasted a long while, and didn’t irritate my skin. Naturally I thought making this miracle soap must have been a painstaking lesson in chemistry. Not for me.

Throughout the years though, I started to want to make my own soap too. Mary would offer to teach me, but it never worked out time-wise and I was still a bit reticent to jump into soap-making head on.

Boy, my fears were unfounded.
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I was fairly certain the cycling season would come to an end in September. After all, we’d had a fairly abysmal summer riding season that was punctuated with scorching hot temps and wintry cool. Neither of which enticed me to hop on the bike. But then a funny thing happened – fall was beautiful. I mean really beautiful. And for some reason, I am willing to ride in tights, jackets and hats in the months that end with an –er. I know I could have done this in the summer, but there is something so depressing about bundling up to go for a ride in June.
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I have a new love. The kind of love that you wake up thinking about. The kind of love that makes you smile when it comes across in conversation. And yes, I do love my husband and he does make me smile every day. But I am not talking about him. I am talking about the Centennial Trail.

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My second grade teacher taught my class to knit. A pretty remarkable feat now that I think of it – a class of about 40 inner-city kids, many of whom had various behavior issues – sitting still for half an hour every day to knit. And she taught all of us. With needles and yarn that she bought out of her own pocket. Talk about a good woman. But she wasn’t just a good woman; she was a smart woman, because knitting proved to be a very useful tool for the classroom. Not only did it somehow silence a class of really rambunctious kids, but also we learned so many skills in those slices of time: patience, fine motor skills, artistry, and the self worth that comes from knowing you can accomplish something – to name a few.
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I recently spent a long weekend at my parent’s house. I didn’t know it when I got there, but it was exactly what I needed. I’d been in a funk. A deep funk. An “I’m about to hit the one year mark in Seattle without a job and I am now on the one year countdown to 30” funk. All very self-pitying and pathetic to be sure, but a funk is not a logical state of mind.

When I got to my parents house however – it all melted away. It was like magic. I think a lot of it has to do with their house itself. It’s going to hit the century mark in this next decade and has all the creaks and cracks to prove it. The house itself is totally cute, but what really makes it a great place (aside from the people living inside it) is the yard. The house itself sits on one city plot, but next to it are almost two more plots that they have turned into a wonderful garden/ chicken/ honeybee extravaganza!


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